


Bending The Rules

by wave_of_sorrow



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (2009)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dom/sub, Fingerfucking, M/M, Masturbation, Possessive Behavior, Punishment, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-06
Updated: 2010-07-06
Packaged: 2017-10-10 10:20:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/98648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wave_of_sorrow/pseuds/wave_of_sorrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watson breaks the rules; Holmes punishes him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bending The Rules

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at my LJ as a response to a Kinkmeme prompt.

Watson returns to Baker Street long after the sun has set, smelling of expensive wine and _her_ perfume. Holmes is sitting in the armchair in front of the fire, playing the violin. The tune is hovering somewhere between a lonely kind of mournful and that slow sadness that is strangely romantic. Watson tries not to think about it too much.

 

He somewhat reluctantly enters the sitting room and pours himself a glass of brandy. Neither of them says anything. Holmes’ playing doesn’t change. He doesn’t even look at Watson. But Watson knows that Holmes is following his every move, even without looking at him. His back is to Holmes as he walks over to his desk to sort the scattered papers there into neat stacks. More just to have something to do with his hands than anything else.

 

Holmes’ playing comes to a halt with a screech that makes the hair on Watson’s arms stand up. An exasperated huff from Holmes and a thud as the violin lands on the now unoccupied chair. Then Holmes’ footsteps as he crosses the room to stand behind Watson, a warm presence at Watson’s back, smelling of tobacco and Holmes.

 

“You reek of her perfume,” Holmes growls and Watson knows he is baring his teeth as he runs the bow of the violin along the outside of Watson’s thigh.

 

“I am engaged to her, Holmes. It is neither unusual nor illegal that I go to dinner with my soon to be wife.” He cannot quite conceal the slight tremble in his voice. They both know what this is about.

 

“You know the rules.” Just the stating of a fact. Nothing more.

 

There is an uncomfortable silence then, filled with Watson’s too fast breathing and the steady sound of the bow hitting Holmes’ open palm. The air feels hot, stifling, too thick to be able to breathe properly. The crackling of the fire seems unnaturally loud.

 

“Strip.”

 

Holmes voice is dark, low and full of threats and promises and Watson obeys immediately. Undoing buttons, yanking off his waistcoat, letting suspenders fall down his shoulders, shrugging out of his shirt and slipping his trousers down until his clothing is strewn around him and he is completely bare before Holmes.

 

Holmes hums appreciatively and runs a hand down Watson’s back to cup his arse. Watson is embarrassed to admit that such a subtle touch affects him so much, but his cock is already half hard and he knows Holmes well enough to know that this will change before long.

 

Before he can dwell on his slight embarrassment Holmes is pressed flush against his back, mouth at Watson’s ear. Holmes pushes his clothed groin against Watson’s naked arse, letting him feel the hard heat there. Watson’s head falls back onto Holmes’ shoulder as Holmes rubs his clothed cock against him.

 

“You are mine,” Holmes hisses into his ear as he circles Watson’s cock at the base, “This is mine,” a hot, threatening whisper against Watson’s skin as Holmes gives his quickly swelling cock an almost painful squeeze.

 

“Yes,” Watson gasps as Holmes bites into his neck, once, briefly.

 

“Bend over,” Holmes pushes him forward without waiting for a response.

 

His chest rests flat on the table, arms stretched above his head, papers and books strewn around him. His eyes close as the bow hits his backside for the first time, lightly. He sighs softly and shifts his weight slightly.

 

The pause after that first, gentle hit is long. Too long. Almost long enough to make Watson ask Holmes what the fuck is taking so long. But then there’s the sound of the bow cutting through the air seconds before the second blow lands on Watson’s arse, hard. Watson groans and arches into the touch a little. He can hear Holmes raise his hand again and then pause slightly.

 

As Watson hears the low growl emerging from the back of Holmes’ throat, he knows that he will pay. The bow whips through the air and hits Watson’s right cheek hard, leaving tingling flesh behind. The skin has not even turned pink yet, nor has Watson had time to gasp before the next blow falls, even harder than before. He groans and arches as Holmes slaps his arse again and again, harder each time, until the pale skin of Watson’s arse has turned a glowing red.

 

Holmes loses control then. He misses that moment when he should stop, throw the bow to the ground, massage Watson’s arse for a minute before making short work of his trousers and taking him. Instead he hits Watson’s backside again and again, left cheek, right cheek, squarely across his arse...the nasty sounds of the bow hitting abused, burning flesh, Watson’s desperate cries and sobs and his own harsh breathing the only sounds in the stiflingly hot room.

 

It’s not until Watson’s cries have stopped and he has resigned to small whimpering noises and pained gasps that Holmes stops, breathing hard, sweat and tears stinging his eyes. Watson is writhing on the desk, his cock is painfully hard and throbbing, tears are streaming down his face and his breath comes in painful gasps. The flesh of Watson’s arse is a bright shade of red, skin burning to the touch, tiny droplets of blood seeping out of the pores.

 

Holmes stares at Watson for a moment, a pained look on his face, before making short work of his clothing, buttons and fabric flying everywhere. His cock is hard, straining towards his stomach and he moans softly as he closes his hand around it. He strokes it slowly, up and down, as he stares at Watson’s form, sprawled over the desk, clearly in pain. He feels sick for getting off on the sight.

 

But he cannot stop from pulling at his pulsing cock a bit more as Watson gasps and groans, rocking his hips minutely in search for some kind of friction. He watches a drop of sweat roll down Watson’s glistening back, along his spine, before pooling at the small of his back. He cups Watson’s arse, rubbing the heated, abused skin for a few moments before kissing his shoulder.

 

Holmes grabs Watson’s neck with one hand then, pushing his face into the desk. He bites Watson’s earlobe, pulling it into his mouth and sucking on it. Watson’s moans only spur him on and he pushes his legs apart as he steps between them, pressing his pulsating cock against Watson’s arse. Watson gasps and pushes back against him. Holmes releases Watson’s earlobe with a wet sound and kisses the soft spot behind his ear.

 

“You are mine, Watson,” he says softly, “See that you don’t forget it,” the softness is gone, replaced by the threatening growl.

 

Holmes’ grip on Watson’s neck tightens for a moment, before he lets go and straightens up. He trails his fingers up and down the crack of Watson’s arse as he picks up a vial of oil from next to Watson’s head with his other hand. He uncorks the bottle with his teeth and parting Watson’s cheeks, he drizzles a thin stream onto Watson’s arse and his fingers, coating them with warm oil.

 

He rubs a slick finger against Watson’s hole, just so, not pushing inside yet. He presses the tip of his finger into Watson, feeling the ring of muscle give way as he pushes his finger completely inside. Holmes can feel Watson contract around him as he twists his finger, steadying Watson’s hip with his free hand. Watson groans, panting heavily, his flushed, sweaty skin glistening in the lamplight.

 

Holmes pulls his finger out to get more oil, then rams two of his fingers back into Watson. Watson arches his back and pushes back against Holmes hands as Holmes starts thrusting his fingers rhythmically in and out of Watson. Holmes continues twisting and scissoring his fingers until Watson is throwing his head back, moaning loudly.

 

And then Holmes crooks his fingers and presses them hard against Watson’s prostate. Watson’s back arches, he throws his head back, releasing a breathless cry as his muscles clench. Holmes alternates between rubbing Watson’s prostate while his thumb strokes the sensitive skin of Watson’s perineum and ramming his fingers into him. Before long Watson is desperately fucking himself back onto Holmes’ hand, grunting, his cock dripping and throbbing.

 

“Holmes, please,” Watson begs breathlessly, “Take me, Holmes. Fuck me.”

 

Holmes’ cock twitches at the sound of Watson begging and he groans softly as he pulls his fingers out to slick his own pulsing cock. He pushes Watson’s head down as he forces his thighs further apart. Taking his cock in hand, he parts Watson’s cheeks and pushes forward forcefully, past the powerful ring of muscle until he is completely buried in Watson’s tight heat.

 

Holmes throws his sweaty head back and groans loudly as Watson clenches around his cock. He snaps then, slamming into Watson, oily hands finding no purchase on slippery hips. He grips Watson’s shoulders,  pulling his entire body onto his cock. Watson is gripping the edge of the table, muscles flexing, his skin hot and sweaty.

 

With a growl Holmes yanks Watson up so that he is flush against his chest, his hips snapping, fingernails digging into Watson’s left hip as he forcefully pulls his head back and meets his mouth in a messy kiss. Their tongues tangle slickly while their lips stay parted, before Watson cranes his neck just a little more and their mouths lock. Their kiss is sloppy and rough. They groan and growl into each other’s throats as Holmes slips his hand around Watson to fist his surging cock, already wet with pre-come.

 

Watson’s hips push forward into the tight circle of Holmes’ slick hand and back onto Holmes’ hard cock. Watson breaks the kiss as Holmes rubs the swollen head of his cock with his thumb. His sweaty head rests on Holmes’ shoulder, mouth open, releasing harsh panting breaths. Holmes sinks his teeth into the side of Watson’s neck, tasting salt and copper and Watson. He sucks on he abused flesh, blood and sweat mingling with saliva in his mouth as he fists Watson’s cock.

 

He can feel Watson getting close as he clenches around his cock every time he thrusts forward, his cries growing louder as the pain from Holmes still sucking and biting at the already bleeding flesh rips through him and shoots straight to his cock. He feels like his skin is too tight. Sweaty, salty, dripping. Like it’s about to rip, burst open. The sensations are too much. Holmes’ hard cock filling him up, Holmes’ fist stroking his own throbbing cock, Holmes’ mouth at his neck...

 

And just as Holmes squeezes his cock painfully hard, his muscles go rigid, before thrashing wildly as his cock jerks in the tightness of Holmes’ hand, come spurting through his fingers, his entire body clenching and jerking as eyes slam closed, blood rushing in his ears. Holmes buries his face in Watson’s sweaty neck as Watson’s muscles clench tightly around his cock and with a few more thrusts and a strangled cry he spills himself into Watson’s body, white lights blinding him, teeth bared against Watson’s skin.

 

Watson falls forward onto the desk, papers sticking to his skin with sweat and come, Holmes’ heavy, hot body on his back. After a few moments to catch his breath Holmes pulls out of Watson, kisses his neck and walks away, into his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

 

Watson stays bent over the desk, sticky and sweaty, his skin burning. He can feel Holmes’ come dripping out of his entrance and down the insides of his trembling thighs. He feels disgusting and dirty and like a cheating bastard. And he can’t even quite bring himself to hate Holmes or himself for the fact that he feels this way for having dinner with Mary.


End file.
